The Solace of Sin
by A Romantic Enquiry
Summary: In 1918, Esme Evenson travels to Chicago to spend the summer with her cousin, whose husband has been sent home and hospitalized with a war injury. While there, Esme is reunited with the handsome and enigmatic Dr. Carlisle Cullen, who treated her broken leg seven years earlier. They begin an affair that is shrouded in deception, with consequences neither of them anticipated. AU.
1. Prologue

**Author's notes**: Many thanks to my dear friend DragonGirl323 for listening to my ideas and helping me make sense of things. She is a wonderful beta and author. If you haven't, please visit her account and read her stories. Also, my gratitude to the people at Team Project Beta and all of their great writing resources.

If you would like more updates about my writing, please visit and like my writer page on Facebook: (Facebook dot com)/pages/A-Romantic-Enquiry/239885409479850

And thank you for reading!

* * *

**Prologue**

And in her looks; which from that time infused  
Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before,  
And into all things from her air inspired  
The spirit of love and amorous delight.  
She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked  
To find her, or for ever to deplore  
Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure:  
When out of hope, behold her, not far off,  
Such as I saw her in my dream

The creation of Eve from_ Paradise Lost_ by John Milton, Book 8, lines 473-82

...

He knew that he didn't have long to consider this. He had exhausted everything that he knew, everything he could think of, to try to save her. Soon it would be down to only two options: allow her to slip off into the eternal mystery of death, perhaps finding peace—certainly ending her suffering—or change her. She had lost consciousness, so he couldn't ask her to make the choice. It was up to him, and both decisions were irrevocable, permanent. He knew that either way he risked her not forgiving him, in the next life or a new one.

Carlisle sank to his knees by the bed, taking Esme's hand into both of his. "I'm so sorry," he said, kissing her knuckles. "I'm so sorry, sorry for everything: for not telling you the truth, for making you feel like you couldn't tell me the truth, for hurting you, for not saving you, for loving you so much, for not loving you enough. . ."

He bowed his head over their clasped hands, a feeling something like exhaustion washing through him, and he winced at the stab of guilt and fear. How many times had he done this over the past centuries? How many bedsides had he walked away from having to face a man and tell him the woman he loved was dead? He knew now that he never really had the capacity to understand what they must have been feeling before, and he hurt for all of them now. The tearless sobs came as a surprise, the closest to crying he had come since his human death.

Looking up at the ceiling, the words that escaped in desperate whispers happened almost automatically, before he even acknowledged his own prayer. "Please, tell me what to do," he pleaded. "I'm asking for her, and I cannot believe she is lost to you." Closing his eyes, Carlisle bowed his head, bringing Esme's hand to his lips again. "I know I don't deserve your mercy, but please answer this, my only prayer: give me the strength I need to save her." He paused, taking an unneeded breath, more for focus, perhaps out of a subconscious drive to memorize her human scent. "Please save her. I don't even know what I have to offer you anymore, but I'd bargain my soul if it's worth anything. Please, please just save her."

Lifting one hand, he crossed himself the way he had so long ago in his father's church, the motions ingrained in his very being now, though he hadn't done them for lifetimes. He waited for the epiphany with a growing sense of urgency. There was a long aching silence: the same reply he remembered to the prayers of his human youth. Then, it had seemed an open space of possibility, but now it seemed more like a grim prediction of the emptiness a future without her held.

When Carlisle opened his eyes, he saw Esme's delicate eyelashes fluttering, her lips barely parted. He knew then what he had to do.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's notes:** Many thanks to my dear friend DragonGirl323 for listening to my ideas and helping me make sense of things. She is a wonderful beta and author. If you haven't, please visit her account and read her stories. Also, my gratitude to the people at Team Project Beta and all of their great writing resources.

If you would like more updates about my writing, please visit and like my writer page on Facebook: (Facebook dot com)/pages/A-Romantic-Enquiry/239885409479850

And thank you for reading!

* * *

(Seven months earlier)

"What you need is a sweet doll to take out," Dr. Townsend said.

Dr. Cullen replied with a wordless sound of protest, shaking his head at his colleague. This was a frequent suggestion from George, who seemed to think that a date was the answer to everything. Carlisle wondered if that was his treatment for some of his patients, and the corner of his lips turned up despite himself.

"Like that little dish right there." George whistled softly, his eyes following a woman as she passed them.

Carlisle was deeply occupied in a patient's chart though. "I can't believe you don't get slapped more often," he muttered, not bothering to look up, assuming George was yet again inappropriately eying one of the young female nurses.

"I think she likes me." He nudged Carlisle, who glanced up finally, hoping to simply appease George and get him to shut up.

He recognized her immediately. She was older now, taller, curvier, with shorter hair that fell in cascading caramel curls down over her shoulders, not down to her waist in a braid like he remembered.

Feeling the men's gazes on her, she paused her conversation with her companion and looked back, intending to give them a dirty glare. Instead, her warm brown eyes lit up, and she nearly stumbled in her low heeled shoes.

"See." George smiled.

"I know her." The hand that held the papers fell to his side, and he almost dropped them. Esme Platt: the girl with the broken leg from Columbus. He smiled fully then, staring at her. She obviously didn't remember him. It made sense. It was a brief encounter, and the human memory is so fallible. But he remembered everything about her.

"Well, introduce us," George suggested.

"No." He watched as she turned the corner.

George nudged him harder, laughing. "What do you know, he does like girls."

"Pardon me?" Carlisle glared at him.

George laughed harder, shaking his head. "In the two years you've worked here, I've never seen you give a woman the eye."

"No, I really do know her." He turned, lifting the papers and pretending to read as he started walking again. "Well, she was a patient of mine once. I was just surprised to see her."

"Why didn't you say something to her?"

"She doesn't remember me."

"Dr. Cullen?" a soft, inviting female voice questioned from behind him, one that sent a foreign tingle down his spine.

"Are you sure?" George stopped and winked at him.

Both men turned as the pretty young woman approached them. Carlisle could see that she was nervous. She was blinking too often. He could see her fingers trembling, hear her shaky breaths and racing heart. For some reason, it was enticing.

"I thought that was you." She was trying to will her voice not to shake.

"Miss Esme Platt," Carlisle replied. "It's nice to see you."

Just the fact that he remembered her, remembered her name even, caused a blush to rise to Esme's cheeks. Feeling them grow heated only embarrassed her more, and they flushed deeper. She was so nervous that she nearly felt sick.

Carlisle found her modesty charming and gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's very nice to see you." She was almost murmuring, tucking her hair behind her ear, smiling up at him shyly.

"You're not here for yourself, I assume." Carlisle looked at her carefully.

"No." Esme shook her head. "My cousin's husband was injured in the war and sent home. He's here recuperating."

He could tell that she was being polite about the details, so he didn't prompt her further about the injuries. "His name?"

"Andrew Turner."

"He's not my patient. I'll make sure they are taking the best care of him."

That made her smile, and he smiled back at her. For a moment, they just stood, looking at each other—her inviting chestnut eyes focused solely on his alluring golden ones, saying more than any number of words could convey. The attraction was immediate and intense, unlike anything that he had ever felt. All of her romantic dreams about him somehow didn't live up to this moment when, seven years after they had first met over her broken leg, she looked at him through the eyes of a woman rather than a fanciful girl, very real, standing right in front of her.

George coughed, drawing attention to himself, but he didn't wait to be introduced. Instead, he gave his name, holding his hand out to Esme, repeating her name back to her to let her know he had been paying attention.

"What are you doing tomorrow evening, Esme?" George asked.

Carlisle shot him a look as Esme responded that she didn't have any plans in particular.

"Good." George smiled at his friend after he spoke. "Why don't you and Carlisle join me and my date at the picture palace then?"

She seemed flustered by this, and Carlisle found it very awkward as well. George was a good doctor, but he had no tact when it came to women. And, as much as the idea of such a human thing appealed to him, it seemed impossible. Still, he couldn't let her stand there and feel so uncomfortable. Just one movie couldn't do that much damage.

Esme immediately wondered if there was any authenticity in the invitation since Carlisle had not asked her himself.

"I'd like that," Carlisle said, his eyes on Esme as she was clearly consciously trying not to shuffle her feet. "If you would do me the honor."

"I'd really love to." Esme bit back the smile that was pulling at her lips. Then, she insisted on meeting them there the following evening before leaving to catch up with her cousin.

"Gorgeous," George said, watching her walk away. "I'm jealous. You owe me for that."

Carlisle heard his words but was occupied with trying to process his conflicting emotions. A five minute conversation with her, a stranger really, and he didn't want her to go.

"I don't see how." Carlisle glanced over at George, trying not to glare at him. "She's a person, not a slice of pie from your lunch." He immediately regretted the food analogy, cursing his subconscious awareness of the lulling call of her human blood. _How ridiculous and overtly sexual_, he thought, shaking his head at himself.

"She sure does look sweet though." George winked at him. "I'd eat her up."

Carlisle rolled his eyes. "Don't you have patients to take care of?" he asked before walking off to attend to his own.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** Many thanks to my dear friend Jenna (penname: DragonGirl323) for listening to my ideas and helping me make sense of things. She is a wonderful beta and author. If you haven't, please visit her account and read her stories. Also, my gratitude to the people at Team Project Beta for all of their great writing resources.

If you would like more updates about my writing, please visit and like my writer page on Facebook: (Facebook dot com)/pages/A-Romantic-Enquiry/239885409479850

And thank you for reading!

* * *

Carlisle stood waiting outside of the Central Park Theater. Glancing at his watch, he noted there were only fifteen minutes until the show was supposed to begin, and there were no signs of George and his date or Esme. He was beginning to feel like a fool. He could just imagine George laughing hysterically at him the following day at work. And Esme—maybe she had only agreed to get them to drop the subject and never had any intention of meeting them here. After all, they were strangers.

He watched the other people walking in, many of them in groups with equal numbers, a great deal of others in pairs, couples arm in arm or hand in hand. A man and woman walked by on the sidewalk, pushing a baby carriage, each of them with one hand on the handle, the little one cooing from her seat at the people. She curled her fingers, waving at Carlisle as he looked at her, and he smiled at her. After so long, he had gotten used to life happening around him. No matter how closely he worked with humans, they still seemed almost like some other species to him entirely now. Unlike them, he didn't have the capacity for things like companionship, romance, or family anymore. At best, he was an outside observer, someone who could briefly enter into the peripheral of anyone's life for only a moment in time and nothing more.

His musings were interrupted by a familiar scent: orchids, so potent that a clear picture of delicate petals dripping with rain easily came to mind. It must be her perfume, the floral hints bursting from her warm, freshly-washed skin. There was something fruity blended in perfectly, like fresh pineapple, a scent unknown to him in his human life, something that would have been exotic. He could pick out her steps from all the noise of the crowd, the rhythmic clicking of her heels on the sidewalk, and it was rousing.

Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he willed himself to stay put and wait for her, watching her approach, the fabric of her dress coiling around her calves as she walked. Since his days as a human young man he hadn't been this stirred by a woman. Then, almost any pretty girl was attractive, but Esme was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in all of his years on Earth. He knew it would be difficult to control his thoughts about her—even that seemed to cross a line. Why bother wondering what her gentle curves would feel like against his body or what her full lips would taste like if he could never find out? It was foolish masochism.

She almost passed him by in her rush to not be late. He reached out on instinct, having to stop himself just short of touching her.

"Miss Platt." He inhaled deeper than necessary before speaking just to breathe her in.

"Dr. Cullen!" She was startled, and her hand flew up to her chest, over her racing heart, bringing attention to the curve of her breasts.

Carlisle shifted his gaze so quickly that he hoped she didn't notice. "Please, call me Carlisle."

"Only if you call me Esme." She exhaled slowly, relaxing. "Is your friend here yet? I'm so sorry that I'm nearly late."

"They aren't here." He offered her his arm. "We should go inside anyway before we miss the start of the film."

Even though she was worried about how his friends would find them after they entered the vast theater, Esme was completely distracted by the grandeur they encountered inside. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. She didn't want to tell him, but she had never been somewhere so grand, and it was her first time in one of these new glorious movie palaces. He seemed rather unaffected, and she didn't want to overtly bring attention to the fact that she was just a silly farm girl who was so easily impressed.

They got wonderful seats in the middle of the theater, directly facing the screen. Carlisle had purchased the tickets early, ensuring them a good view. The air inside the building was amazingly cool, and she was thankful for it, her nerves taking over as she glanced at him. He smiled at her as most of the lights in the huge room went off. Esme was partly glad that there was little time for talking. But it was also somewhat awkward to sit silently next to a man she didn't know in the dark, despite being surrounded by people in a theater that surely sat hundreds. She was thankful when the picture began, so that they would both have a reason to be distracted.

The film, _Stella Maris_, starred Mary Pickford as a bedridden young woman raised with a fantasy view of the world as a beautiful, perfect place. Only when she was cured did she come to find the harsh truth about the world around her. Though her life hadn't been quite that dramatic, Esme could relate to the sudden loss of the hopeful dreams of youth.

In a scene when the hero's wife lashed out at her husband, reaching to slap him, Esme flinched. She was more surprised to feel Carlisle's fingers slide over her hand. His skin was cold, probably from the refrigerated air in the building, but it was also smooth and the gesture comforting. She glanced over at him, and he moved to pull his hand away. Flipping her hand over underneath his, she gripped his fingers and looked back at the screen.

Their hands remained clasped as the movie progressed. When it began to be apparent that young Stella was in love with her married friend John, Esme began to feel uncomfortable. After all, she was sitting in a theater with a man who wasn't her husband, a man she really didn't know, and she was holding his hand as if they shared an intimate relationship. It had felt so natural and reassuring at first.

It was easy to forget that she was a married woman. Charles had been gone for one-third of the time they had been married, and she was grateful for it. He had quickly revealed himself to be something other than the suitable match that everyone in her family had thought he was. It wasn't a matter of that he was merely unromantic either.

Romance was something that she still dreamed of though. In her heart, she harbored the silent, sinful wish that Charles simply wouldn't come home from the war. She had regretted their marriage immediately. She wanted to be free, but she also wanted to be loved. Here, in this place far from her home, with a handsome doctor by her side, imagining that dream as her real life became easy. She pretended that her real life didn't exist, that she was free to hold his hand like this, better yet, he was her husband, spending his evening off from work with her.

When John pulled Stella to him for a passionate kiss, her breath caught in her throat. She saw Carlisle look over at her out of the corner of his eye, and she squeezed his fingers lightly before letting go. No one had ever kissed her that way, not the way that she longed to be kissed, and it seemed rather shocking to see it portrayed larger than life on the screen before her.

Carlisle felt Esme tense beside him, and she gasped softly. He could see the chill race across the skin of her arm, and she brought her fingers up to her full, parted lips. The gesture was endearing and tantalizing. He couldn't tell if she was shocked or aroused or both, but her dark eyes were locked on the screen. He, however, caught himself looking at her more than the movie. It was probably inappropriate, and he tried to be subtle, hoping she wouldn't notice, but she was far more charming than the film.

Esme was relieved that the film had a happy ending that involved the two main characters being able to be together finally. It was a long journey to true love for them both, and they had to work out both personal and relationship problems, but they had the capacity to forgive, which seemed to save them both. Perhaps it was possible after all. Maybe that could happen in the real world too. She didn't wish tragedy or suffering on anyone, not really, but she knew Charles didn't love her any more than she loved him. So, why couldn't they just try to be happy? She couldn't understand why anyone would choose to be miserable. When Carlisle offered his hand to her once again when the movie was over, she realized that she had been choosing to be miserable. And maybe she didn't have to.

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked as they walked with the crowd out into the corridor and toward the doors of the theater.

Carlisle was silent for a moment, looking up toward the ceiling. "I believe in purpose."

Esme wasn't sure if that meant that he did or didn't or that he wasn't sure.

"It could be a comforting thought," he added. "It would take away some of our personal accountability, but it would also take away some of our free will."

"Do you think we truly have free will?" Esme wasn't convinced the idea of free will was quite as broad as some interpreted it to be.

"I think we have limitations, but we also always have choices."

Esme nodded. Maybe he was right; she would like to believe that she still had choices. If he really did believe that, perhaps he wouldn't judge her so harshly after all.

She agreed to allow him to walk her to her cousin's house when he offered, weighing her options and considering telling him the truth right then. She decided it might seem overly eager though, as if she had expectations of him, and she really had no idea of his intentions.

Instead, the subject wandered to other things naturally, and he asked her about her family, if she was living with her cousin.

"No, I don't live here. I live in Ohio. I'm only staying while Andrew is in the hospital, mostly so that I can help with their two young children while Cathy visits him. Well, and to get away from the farm."

"I didn't know your parents owned a farm. I thought you lived in Columbus."

It seemed slightly odd to her that he remembered little details, that he spoke like he knew her family when they had only met briefly over a minor accident she'd had several years ago. Then again, it was flattering in a way as well.

She shook her head. "Outside of the town really. Where is your family from?"

"England."

That explained the hint of an accent she caught in his voice—something that sounded sophisticated and timeless but didn't really serve to place him anywhere in particular. Carlisle sounded like he was from almost everywhere and nowhere at times.

"I've always wanted to go to England. Do they still live there?" The thought of him being all alone, so far away from his family, made her sad.

"My father passed away. He was my only family. It was a long time ago."

Esme looked up at him, noting the distant look in his eyes—an expression of nostalgia and perhaps sadness. He seemed much older than he looked at times. It struck her then that she really didn't know his age and that he couldn't have been practicing medicine for very long when he first treated her. In fact, it was hard to imagine him any older than thirty at the most.

"I'm sorry." She paused for a moment, and he didn't say anything else, so she asked him his age.

"Thirty-two. And you are probably about twenty-two, right?"

"You have a good memory, Dr. Cullen." Esme smiled, looking at him again. Did he really remember almost everything about her? Had she possibly made a great impression on him the way he had on her? He didn't seem to mind making her very aware that he hadn't forgotten about her. "I just turned twenty-three."

"You don't think I'm too old for you, do you?"

Esme found his question to be both full of hope and disaster at the same time: He wouldn't say that if he didn't like her, but his liking her could lead to a great deal of trouble. And he was quite unreadable at that moment. Though his voice carried a hint of lightheartedness, his expression was very serious. In fact, he almost slowed to a stop, looking her directly in the eyes as he waited for her reply.

"No." She shook her head, biting her lip in hopes of stopping the urge to smile. "Our age difference is not a problem at all."

"I hope not," he replied, smiling gently at her.

The conversation turned lighter after that and continued until they nearly reached her cousin's home. She found him easy to talk to and caught herself laughing and smiling more than she had in a long time.

Carlisle bid Esme goodnight at the bottom of the stairs, watching her go inside. He waited, staring at the two story brick house until he saw a light come on in one of the second floor windows. Now she would continue to be human: she would dress in her nightclothes, perhaps bathe first, turn the blankets down on the bed, maybe read or engage in some other hobby until she fell asleep. She would dream, and he wondered if her nocturnal visions were vivid or dull, fantastical or realistic. What did her mind speak of while she slept? Did she sleep soundly or lightly? Would she remember her dreams when she woke up in the morning?

He didn't have to work tonight, so he would go home alone to listen to the echoes and creaks of the house, the sounds of his neighbors' human lives filtering in through the walls and heavy drapes he kept pulled closed all day. The couple in the house to the left of his had a newborn baby, and he would hear the infant's cries of hunger in the night and sympathize with the baby's discomfort. As he walked home slowly, he decided that the day off would be better spent on a trip out of the city and into the wilderness for some hunting—anything to distract him from this growing, dangerous curiosity about Esme.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's notes:** Many thanks to my dear friend Jenna (penname: DragonGirl323) for listening to my ideas and helping me make sense of things. She is a wonderful beta and author. If you haven't, please visit her account and read her stories. Also, my gratitude to the people at Team Project Beta for all of their great writing resources.

If you would like more updates about my writing, please visit and like my writer page on Facebook: (Facebook dot com)/pages/A-Romantic-Enquiry/239885409479850

And thank you for reading!

* * *

It had been a difficult shift, one of the rare ones that made Carlisle feel relieved for a break. Though he never felt tired, the constant display of human suffering before him could be daunting at times, especially when battles had been lost like today. For one, he had watched a young family fall apart. A day that should have been one of great joy had ended in tragedy when a new mother and her infant had both died during the birth. It was something that happened much less frequently these days, but that did not make it any less tragic. An undercurrent of helplessness had hung on for the rest of the shift as the sick, the old, the frail, and even more influenza victims came through the doors. Death was inevitable, suffering part of the human condition, but every person who didn't walk out the doors better than they had come in still weighed on his heart. Now, there was only one more round of bed checks to be completed before he could leave.

He started going through a mental list of the patients he needed to look in on, but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted. For a moment he thought his senses were deceiving him as he caught the now familiar scent. It was so early in the morning, and it seemed unlikely she would be here at this hour. Still, he felt a sense of urgency as the sound of her laughter filtered through the everyday sounds of the hospital ward. There was no mistaking the effect the sound of her voice had on him. The burdens of the day seemed lifted almost instantly, however. The relief washed through him as a rapid succession of awarenesses: her scent, her laugh, the sight of her around the corner. She was standing down the hall with her back turned to him. He watched her shift her weight onto one foot, forcing the curve of her left hip out further, the upper half of her body leaning to the right as she glanced over her shoulder, the curls spilling down her back. She didn't turn far enough to see him, and she was giggling at something George had said to her. He was leaning casually against the nurses' desk, smiling at her, looking quite pleased with himself.

Carlisle hadn't spoken to or seen Esme since their date nearly a week ago. Having dealt with the fact that he was attracted to her in a manner most likely unhealthy for her, inappropriate for him, and likely tragic for them both, he decided it best to just let her go. They had only gone out once, and that date had been setup by George. Carlisle felt he had said too much to her, letting her know he found her attractive. Even if it meant nothing coming from him, she should know what a gift her mere presence was. He was sure that any number of men would agree. George, for one, had made it no secret that he found her alluring as well.

Some very small voice in his head started blathering on about how it was a much more reasonable match, how George was a flirt, yes, but he was a good friend, a brilliant doctor, just an average guy looking for love. It reminded him that if it wasn't George, some other human man would steal her heart, as it should be.

But all this sensible logic was drowned by the first, instinctual reaction. Part of him felt challenged, threatened, and defensive, protective and almost possessive. Logic wasn't strong enough to destroy the initial response he had to Esme. There was another part of him that wished he could call her his, one that stirred a kind of unparalleled elation, one that made him want to both treasure her and pull her into his arms to lay his claim on her. It was a very complicated mess of basic biology and emotion that he didn't know how he'd existed so long without experiencing.

"Speak of the devil," he heard George say as he approached them.

Esme turned around fully then. She looked delighted.

Carlisle couldn't help but smile at her. George made a quick excuse to go, winking at Carlisle before leaving him alone with Esme. Carlisle still wasn't quite sure what George was playing at with this matchmaking scheme of his. Had he only been talking to Esme to stall her? Had he assumed their date hadn't gone well since Carlisle refused to talk to him much about it and thought that meant he was free to flirt with Esme now? Carlisle certainly didn't feel he had any right to feel jealous no matter what passed between them before his arrival, but he did anyway.

Esme smiled shyly, looking down at the ground before peering up at him through her thick dark lashes. It made a current, like a faint electric shock, race through him.

"Hello," Esme greeted sweetly.

"Hello," he replied, a little surprised at himself that it took a moment to find his voice. "Are you here with your cousin?"

She shook her head. "I'm only pretending to be here for my family. I was really hoping to run into you." A slight blush rose to her cheeks at her confession. "I wasn't expecting to be interviewed by George about our, um, date. He did say that he found out at the last minute that his date was ill and that is why they couldn't come along."

Maybe that meant that her ringing laughter had more to do with the topic of conversation than her conversation partner, and Carlisle hoped that was a good thing. At least she looked happy.

"I'm delighted to see you." It wasn't simply a polite reply; it was just too easy to like her. "You probably shouldn't come here unless you have to though. More and more influenza cases arrive every day, and it's better to just be safe. Hopefully your cousin's husband can go home soon."

"He's doing well," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She was notably more relaxed now. "I think an in-home nurse is coming to help him get readjusted when he is released, which means he can come home sooner."

There was a pause as a gurney was pushed past them, the sheet pulled up over the patient's head. Esme looked away, waiting until the deceased was out of sight before she spoke again.

"What about you?" she asked, looking back up at him. "Aren't you afraid of getting sick?"

Carlisle shook his head. Her concern was sweet, and it made him wish he could be openly honest with her. He decided to go with only part of the truth again. "I'm more afraid of losing my patients than getting sick myself."

"That's very honorable." She shifted her feet slightly. "I'm sorry. You must be busy and I'm keeping you. And you look tired. You should get some rest."

He gave her a small smile. He hadn't been able to rest in centuries, and, despite never feeling physically tired, he hadn't felt this emotionally fatigued since his early days as a vampire. It did cause the drain of distraction. While she was standing in front of him, it all seemed washed away in a kind of relief and excitement like the kind he had felt upon the discovery that he could survive without having to kill humans. She had a motivating, revitalizing effect without him having to even touch her.

"It was nice to see you, Esme," he said, not sure he could or should really express how she had turned his day around in just a few minutes. She seemed anxious to go suddenly. He wondered if he had said something wrong or if he simply hadn't said the right thing.

"Bye, Dr. Cullen." She waved at him, giving him a sad smile. There was a slight pause before she stepped around him and started down the hall.

He stood staring at the window at the opposite end of the hallway, listening to her footsteps. He realized then that if her cousin's husband was released from the hospital soon, this might be his last chance to see her. It may be the last time he ever saw her. They had been put in each other's paths more than once now, and for what? For a mended broken leg? For one visit to the movie palace? Carlisle had always believed there was some greater force at work in the universe but that it wasn't a controlling force. He believed options were presented and it was up to the individual to make the choice. He always tried to make the best choice.

But what was the right choice now? It was easy to be selfless. It was easy for him to tell himself it didn't matter if he'd known from the night of their first date that this was exactly what he'd longed for all these long centuries. He imagined her to be a nonjudgmental companion, someone who was kind and caring and intelligent, who would both understand and challenge him in all the right ways. It was easy to say it was better to let her go, making the excuse it was better for her because it meant he didn't have to deal with the challenges.

If that was the right choice, why couldn't he erase the way she looked at him from his thoughts? Why had he thought about her so often while he was home alone waiting for another shift to start, trying to find some distraction, but everything only reminded him of her? More importantly, what about her feelings? She had mentioned specifically coming there to see him, and he was certain it wasn't to just say hello and then leave. Was it right to let her walk away looking obviously disappointed? Was it right to pretend her interest in and concern for him didn't matter?

Behind the warmth of her brown eyes, he recognized a longing and loneliness that mirrored his own. It pulled on him like the moon on the tides, tugging at something that seemed to have lain dormant in his silent heart. Perhaps it was his soul, if he had one, being drawn to her. It was something he had never felt until he had met her. That seemed to be enough. Perhaps she had just wanted him to respond. George had talked them into going out the first time, and it had been nice. Maybe she just wanted to give him one more chance before allowing that to slip away. And he was just standing there staring blankly at the plain, white wall, letting the best thing that had ever happened to him walk away.

Before he had time to question himself further, he turned on his heels and hurried down the hall, forcing himself to keep a human pace, bursting through the door to the stairwell, and skipping steps on his way down until he caught up with her.

"Esme," he said, looking over the railing at her as she started down the next landing.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's okay." She walked back up the stairs to where he was standing. "What is it?"

"I should have asked you before, but do you have plans this coming Monday?"

Esme shook her head, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth briefly. Taking one more step, she nearly closed the space between them. The warmth radiating from her body, her scent, her eyes so focused on him had an intoxicating effect.

"I have the day off, and I thought perhaps we could do something together."

"I'd like that very much." Her hand slid up the railing slightly, inching nearer to where his rested and he felt a tingle between them. Esme's fingers twitched slightly, and he gripped the railing tighter.

"Is there anything you haven't done or seen in Chicago that you would like to?"

For a moment, she was slightly taken aback and wasn't able to answer right away. Having him ask her what she wanted to do was slightly surprising. It certainly wasn't something she'd had the notion to think about ahead of time. She was more accustomed to either being told he couldn't do what she wanted or simply being told what to do, especially by men. Of course, Carlisle had already demonstrated he wasn't quite like any man she had ever known.

"Roller skating," she suggested finally.

One of his eyebrows twitched slightly, and she held in a laugh. Of course, it didn't seem like the sort of thing he would be interested in. His reaction, coupled with the fact she really did want to try it, made it seem like the perfect test of his sincerity about taking her anyplace she wanted to go.

"That could prove to be interesting. I do have to go back to work now, but I'll see you Monday evening for roller skating, then?"

They made plans, and she insisted on meeting him at the small eatery on the corner of the street where her cousin lived before they parted ways.

Esme stepped out onto the sidewalk feeling triumphant. It was very early in the morning, mist lingered from the night and it was cloudy now, but she wondered if it would be another hot day that was best spent indoors. But nothing could spoil her day now. She had argued with herself all the way to the hospital. It was bold and reckless, what she was doing. Still, she had never felt such a magnetic pull toward another person. Could this be love? The very thought brought a smile to her face, and she looked down at the sidewalk, focused on her steps, slightly embarrassed at the thought of anyone spying on her happiness that she could not mask.

She knew that people didn't have to stay in unhappy relationships. People did get divorced. It was very rare, and she had never known anyone who had done it. She thought that if anyone had a just reason to end a marriage though, she did. It was not her intention to be a cheater. It was just that Carlisle made her feel brave somehow—brave enough to think she deserved to be treated like a human.


End file.
